


The History of Two Conversations (On Paper)

by takadainmate



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Epistolary, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-20
Updated: 2009-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-27 02:40:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takadainmate/pseuds/takadainmate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Books are defaced. But it's all for a good cause. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The History of Two Conversations (On Paper)

**Author's Note:**

> This was beta'd in a very uncomfortable but ultimately satisfying position by [](http://cienna.livejournal.com/profile)[**cienna**](http://cienna.livejournal.com/) , and is dedicated to [](http://owari.livejournal.com/profile)[**owari**](http://owari.livejournal.com/) for being so awesome to me all the time. (And quite possibly to [](http://hils.livejournal.com/profile)[**hils**](http://hils.livejournal.com/) too for writing me [awesome Uther/Gaius fic!](http://hils.livejournal.com/3334008.html))

_This is a very useful spell_ , Merlin wrote. He formed the letters carefully, small so he could write more later, if he needed to, and did not at all wonder if he was going to get in trouble or be cursed or something for writing in the margins of an ancient spell book.

He told the book (in case it had an opinion on the matter), "I am just imparting my knowledge to future generations. I'm sure they will find my comments helpful."

The book made no reply, so Merlin decided it was fine and leaned over the tome again adding, _You can clean almost anything with it, even though in this book it refers to badgers alone. Don't believe that for a second. Just yesterday I cleaned out the extraordinarily vile bottom of Arthur's miscellaneous chest using this spell and it worked a treat._ He thought for a moment before finishing, _One downside: Leaves an odd sulphurous odour after use. Better not to use on clothing and/or self._

**

One boring rainy afternoon when Arthur was off doing something princely and Gwen was off doing laundry and Gaius was off doing who-knew-what, Merlin was absently flicking through the pages of his spell book when he found a comment in another hand, written in purple underneath his own reminder; _Adjust pronunciation of second L for various colour effects_.

_Merlin_ , it read in a very familiar and stern manner. _Stop defacing this book_.

Merlin frowned. "I asked the book," he told the writing, then upon realising he was _talking to writing_ he sighed. "That's it. The evidence is clear. Camelot has driven me insane."

It then occurred to Merlin to wonder why Gaius had been looking in the magic book at all, for all his lectures about the proper and _sparing_ use of sorcery. Then he remembered he had left the book open on his bed when he had rushed out, late to work, that morning.

"Oops," Merlin said, and began searching for some spell which might either make Gaius not tell him off for doing that, _again_ , or a spell that would make such lectures enjoyable experiences. He didn't mind which. He was not entirely surprised when he found nothing which might have helped even the slightest bit.

**

Merlin was terrible at drawing.

So terrible in fact that he was sure, looking down at his attempts to render a diagram of Arthur with boils, that no one would ever be able to tell what it was supposed to be.

"At least," Merlin mused, "If I am ever found with this book they will never know I conspired to give the crown prince painful ulcers." Not that he ever would, not really, but when it was cold and wet and a certain prince ordered you to muck out his stables it tended to be a very heart-warming thought.

Merlin's suspicions that his artwork was atrocious were confirmed when he found a note several days later, printed in pencil, beneath his diagram. It read: _(1) Never draw again, unless this is illustrating some hellish creature in which case congratulations on effectively conveying the horror of its appearance. (2) If I find this book open and lying on your bed for all to see one more time I will put laxatives in your soup. (3) STOP WRITING IN THIS BOOK._

Merlin wrote, decidedly in thick blue ink, _I am imparting essential knowledge to the future. Anyway, I could always magic it away._ But he was certainly more careful where he left the book. For several weeks at least, until a slighted witch turned her former lover into a halibut.

"A fish that breathes air and talks like your brother," Gaius said to the man's family, having found him in bed that morning in the form of a fish.

"It's lucky they didn't eat me," the fish said, its beady eyes rolling around to look accusingly at his brothers and father.

"I understand," Gaius nodded. "Return this evening. I will search for a cure. Leave the fish. I mean, your brother."

And Merlin watched as Gaius ushered the family out and then proceeded to drug the fish-man into oblivion. "Now," he said finally, turning to Merlin. "I believe the only way this can be solved is through a retransformation spell which you will find on the page you wrote a short treatise on the pros and cons of using banishing spells for the removal of household cobwebs."

"You've been reading," Merlin accused, not a little surprised by the revelation.

"I often read, Merlin," Gaius replied dryly. "Now get the book and let us see what we can do for this poor man."

It was, after all, an easy spell, so Merlin wrote beside it: _Easy. Feels similar to spells of enlarging and making smaller. Be cautious of making person to be transformed younger and/or older._ He hadn't even noticed until there was a decidedly loud tutting and impatient foot-tapping that he was still in Gaius's work room and that Gaius was standing right in front of him _watching_ him deface his book.

"Did you remove those frivolous drawings, and my comments at least?" he asked.

"Err," Merlin said. "Yes? Well. That is. Not really? I forgot."

Gaius just shook his head. "Our ex-halibut friend will be sleeping in your bed tonight," he said in his most final tone.

Which Merlin thought was perhaps only fair.

**

When the witch who turned her ex-beloved into a halibut was found and beheaded Merlin wrote on a clean page at the back he was sure had not been there before, _Spell for Reattaching Heads_. And he meant to find one.

**

For days Merlin couldn't bring himself to laugh or joke with Arthur, until Arthur snapped and demanded, "Will you stop _sulking_. I don't even know what is _wrong_ with you."

Merlin shrugged and replied, "I don't suppose you would," which only served to incense Arthur even more. Merlin wondered, as he absently dusted down the corners of Arthur's wardrobe, at his sudden desire to make Arthur mad at him.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean," he almost shouted. "I've a good mind to sack you."

"Again, sire?" Merlin said, with a lot more bite and a lot less humour than he might usually have done. And as Arthur let out a frustrated breath and stormed out of his own room Merlin thought of the spell book and the passage therein that divested the enchantment to induce empathy in another. He wanted to show Arthur, more than anything, what the execution of others with magic did to him. What it did to all of them. There was anger and frustration and a sense of complete injustice. The witch had not murdered or really even harmed. She had not boiled him alive and eaten him, or made him a _real_ halibut who could not breathe air. She had left him with a voice and a mind of his own and in her mercy she had damned herself. Merlin knew, because he had written it in the column beside the empathy spell, _To use this spell is to reveal your magic._

Which Merlin was not willing to do. And on days like this, when it seemed as though Arthur was being _purposefully_ dense, Merlin wondered if he ever would.

**

With shaking hands that stung as he gripped the pen, Merlin wrote: _More powerful than you expect. Unpredictable._ He ignored the gnawing emptiness in his stomach and the blood smeared across the page and added, _But it saved our lives._ And for that reason alone Merlin did not rip the sheet out completely and tear it to shreds.

He heard Gaius in the other room calling his name worriedly and shoved the book under his bed, hating it and hating himself and hating Arthur, Camelot and every single creature in all of creation than would try to see Arthur dead. They didn't even _know_ , he thought. They didn't know what a stupid idiot Arthur could be. They didn't know he could be vain and clueless and stubborn and yet merciful and funny and _never ever_ cruel. It made Merlin angry and vengeful and so very _tired_ of hiding that it scared him. It scared him what he might do; what he _could_ do.

And later, when he was sure Arthur was going to live (and when Gaius was, he said, sure Merlin wasn't going to do something reckless again) Merlin retrieved the book from the floor and added, _Practice_ and _Learn control_ and thought that maybe he was starting to believe again that Arthur was his destiny. And maybe even a little bit his friend.

**

There weren't many potions in the old spell book, for which Merlin was eternally grateful. His poultices never worked and often turned lumpy and Gaius despaired.

"It's just as well you got another job, other than my apprentice," Gaius often jibed to which Merlin wondered if he should take offense. Except, if Merlin was honest with himself it was entirely true.

Not that he was really very good at being a servant either, but he found with the careful application of magic he could, at least, be reasonably efficient.

It wasn't, then, the cleaning and the tidying so much as the obeying orders and being subservient thing that Merlin was completely rubbish at.

"You are not," Arthur told him, "Supposed to _tell_ me if my hair looks terrible."

Merlin looked at the sticking-up mess. "I was only trying to be helpful. You wouldn't want to go to the banquet like that. People might laugh at you." He paused. "I know I am."

"Traitor," Arthur pouted. "This is Morgana's fault." And although Merlin wasn't quite sure how Arthur's bad hair was Morgana's doing (and very much did not want to know) he thought it best, for his own sanity, to come to Arthur's aid. Like always.

"Sit down," he said. "I know just the thing."

It was fickle, and Gaius would have his head if he found out, but Merlin carefully utilised a bottle of water from his pocket and a magic for the reformation of broken crockery to flatten Arthur's hair.

"Why on earth do you carry a bottle of hair tonic with you?" Arthur asked as Merlin ran his fingers through his hair and made sure to tell himself that he was not at all enjoying himself, "For Gaius," he replied earnestly, to which Arthur scoffed and laughed back, "Well I knew it couldn't be for _your_ hair."

And because Merlin was feeling generous he ignored the comment and didn't turn Arthur's hair blue and pink.

That night, after the banquet and a lot of smug looks from Arthur towards Morgana, Merlin wrote in the book, _Good for hair-styling._

**

Hunting, Merlin had always thought, was boring, pointless and just a little bit mean. He had always thought it was one thing to kill for food, and entirely another to kill for fun and wondered at how Arthur could find spending an entire day traipsing after a defenceless animal in order to murder it even vaguely enjoyable.

Merlin certainly didn't and not least because he always seemed to end up getting shouted out a lot. He once asked Arthur why he even bothered to take him along when Merlin quite clearly was not cut out for hunting. At all.

He replied, "Someone has to carry my things," but he was smiling smugly so Merlin had the sneaky suspicion he took Merlin along because _Merlin hated hunting_.

This time Merlin had had enough. "You always bring me along," Merlin panted, hauling Arthur's bags and Arthur's crossbow awkwardly, "Because you know I hate it, don't you." Arthur shot him a look that said both _Shut up_ and _Why yes I did_ , to which Merlin replied, probably more loudly than was strictly necessary, "I knew it! Can't you be a half-decent human even once? I don't know why I put up with you! I could be at home, with people who don't make me suffer for their own amusement. I could lead a nice quiet life. Maybe get a pig. Or an ox, if I'm feeling adventurous."

Merlin thought of nice, homely fires and his mother and thought vindictively, _And I know just the spell to turn_ you _into one. Not that you need help._

"I've tried leaving you behind before," Arthur shot back. "And it never seems to work."

"That _wasn't for hunting_ ," Merlin emphasised. Because right now Merlin was willing to leave Arthur to his fate if it meant he could get out of the rain and the hail and the very unpleasant cold gale and this was the very worst hunting trip he had _ever_ been on. (And that was really saying something.)

He thought of his spell book, nice and warm and wrapped in a pair of trousers under his bed and envied it terribly.

"It's not my fault the weather turned bad." And it was with some satisfaction that Merlin heard the annoyance and discomfort in Arthur's voice too.

"But I don't see why I'm carrying _everything_ ," Merlin said. Because all Arthur had was a light bag and his sword and that was just _not fair_.

"Because, Merlin," Arthur said slowly. "We are cut off from the knights, which before you start moaning again is also not my fault, and it is known that there are bandits and probably some dangerous animals in these woods too. And I'm fairly certain that between the two of us I'm the only one who's trained for such things."

"Well it certainly wasn't my fault," Merlin mumbled, and cursed rubbish old bridges everywhere and their tendency to split apart at the first sign of flash flooding and Merlin had _warned_ Arthur that crossing that bridge was a bad idea. But had he listened? Oh no. He'd called Merlin a girl (again) and announced, "It's perfectly steady," and then of course it had collapsed just as they reached the other side, almost taking Merlin's leg with it.

It hadn't been so bad at first but then there was rain and wind and on they trudged towards a bridge several miles downstream, Merlin slipping on the path turned to a muddy stream every few steps.

"Look," Arthur said reasonably. "There are some caves off the track nearby. We can rest in there until the rain stops."

"Oh yes. And I'm sure those caves won't have any bloodthirsty bands of thieves or ravenous packs of wolves in them."

Arthur stopped and looked around for a moment before veering off the path and into the woods. "If they do I have my sword. It's fine."

"Reassuring," Merlin huffed, and was infinitely glad when they found the caves and they were empty.

"Except for the bats," Arthur said. "But we'll stay close to the entrance."

It was an immense relief to put down the heavy bag and just sit down and soon Merlin was dozing on the relatively dry ground and not at all thinking about how he was soaked and freezing and still mad at Arthur.

"You're mad at me," Arthur said then, sounding surprised at the very idea. He came and sat down next to Merlin. "You know, if I wanted a servant who was going to get in moods with me all the time I'd hire Morgana."

"She'd never be able to put up with you. And would _never_ obey your orders."

"Neither of which you do either," Arthur argued.

Merlin looked at Arthur and smiled because, well, that was true. And he was proud of the fact. However, "Are you insulting my manliness by comparing me to a girl again?" he asked.

"You don't have any manliness to insult, Merlin," Arthur scoffed, and he was grinning.

That smile, and the closeness, with Arthur at his side like this made Merlin feel warm. He realised, _This is how it should be._ He realised, _I want it to be like this forever._

"You wouldn't want to go back to your home really, though, would you?" Arthur asked then, suddenly serious and Merlin had to think for a minute what he was talking about.

"I love Ealdor," he answered honestly. "But it's not my life anymore, no matter how much I complain," he smiled. "I meant what I said. That I was happy to be your servant. To stay with you." Then, just in case Arthur got too bigheaded added, "Most of the time."

Arthur just nodded and shifted closer until their sides were pressed together and Merlin could feel that Arthur was shivering just as much as he was.

"For warmth," he said.

**

_For the secret conveyance of food from Arthur's table to my hand_ , Merlin wrote after yet another feast which yet again went on for so long his stomach cramped with hunger and yet again Arthur singularly failed to relieve him at _any time during the night_ , _Exhale gently, twice, then inhale sharply, three times._ He sat thoughtfully for a moment, yawning and trying to forget that he had to get up soon. _Works best if concentrating on meat_ , he added, remembering fine cuts of boar and pheasant.

Then he frowned, remembering Arthur's half-drunken state and mischievous eyes, and flipped to his empty back pages. He wrote the title there: _Spell for banishing Arthur's hand from my bum_ , and underlined it three times.

**

When Uther was enraged about something the entire court seemed to go into hiding. Except for the knights, Gaius (who had this _clearly magical_ ability to convince the king not to kill things), Arthur and, because he was forced to, Merlin. "If I have to suffer my father then so do you," Arthur told him, rolling his eyes at Merlin's, "Do I really need to?"s and "Are you sure I can't just hide like everyone else. I'd really appreciate that, you know"s.

"I don't know what _you_ have to worry about," he said. "He doesn't even take any notice of you."

Merlin was unconvinced, because Uther was seeing magic in everything these days and every time he stood in the king's presence Merlin felt more and more like he was going to be called out at any moment and then summarily executed.

Arthur was complaining, "You don't have to do anything except stand there and look stupid which, by the way, I will admit you are very good at doing. It's always worse when it's about sorcery. And now Morgana is on my back and Merlin, are you even listening to me?"

"Every word," Merlin assured him, and Merlin thought fondly of the silencing spells in his magic book, then realised Arthur had just mentioned sorcery.

"Sorcery?" he asked, to which Arthur gave him a withering look.

"You really are very slow this morning. Did you not sleep?"

"Not much," Merlin retorted. "I was up most of the night fixing _someone's_ hunting trousers."

"Surely," Arthur scoffed, "It can't be that hard to sew up a few little holes."

"A few _little holes_. More like great swathes of missing fabric!"

It was infuriating how Arthur just shrugged. "Anyway," he said. "Yes, sorcery. My father is convinced there is a sorcerer-spy at court so we are to search the castle today. Because of this _you_ ," and here Arthur prodded at Merlin's chest and smirked, "Are going to be polishing the castle's bedpans."

"All of them?" Merlin may have squawked.

"Every single one," Arthur nodded. And Merlin thought a silencing spell was just too kind, and instead considered that one about hair thinning that Gaius had assured Merlin did not _return_ hair if you spoke the words backwards.

**

This is how it ended.

The look on Arthur's face told Merlin something was very wrong, and his morning of cleaning chamber pots was going to seem like a joyful experience in comparison.

"What," Arthur ground out between clenched teeth. "Is this?"

He threw the book, the very magic and very obviously magic and very clearly now in Arthur's possession book, onto the table between them.

All of a sudden Merlin's ears were buzzing and he felt very very cold. He tried to think of a plausible excuse. Some kind of believable deniability but the buzzing was ever so loud and Arthur's gaze so very _furious_ that Merlin couldn't come up with anything.

Instead, "I can explain."

"Can you?" Arthur asked venomously. "This was lying on your bed. Open. _With your writing in the margins_." He shook his head. "There really is no mistaking that _scrawl_." He leant forward and flipped the book open to a page on water spells, running his finger down the page to stop at Merlin's hastily written, smudged notation. "The book lies," he read aloud. "Not for moving water but instead removes it completely. Good for drying clothes in winter."

He flipped to another page and Merlin couldn't tell if it was random or not. "Under a spell entitled "To Kill All Creatures"," he said slowly, quietly, rage in his eyes and his shoulders set. "You write, _Efficient_."

"For cockroaches, Arthur," Merlin tried desperately. " _For cockroaches_."

Arthur looked at him then, _really_ looked at him and held the book up. "Do you know what would happen to you if someone else had found this?"

Merlin swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "I know," he said, and then he remembered and unbidden he felt anger and annoyance at all of this. "I know because I've watched enough sorcerers executed in that courtyard," he spat, pointing out the window. "I know because your father cuts the hands off of men who have even _looked_ like they might have had dealings with a sorcerer."

"Oh no," Arthur shot back. "You don't get to be angry. You _lied_ to me." He slammed the book down on the table. "You are a traitor and a liar and I trusted and listened to you! You said you were my friend and you turn out to be a damned cockroach-murdering sorcerer! You are everything like my father said magicians were; malicious and conceited and destructive and _evil_."

Merlin looked at the book on the table between them and wondered if there was a spell for forgetting in there. And then he wondered why he even cared anymore, if that was what Arthur thought of him. "So that," Merlin said carefully, meeting Arthur's eyes. "Is that what you think? And you wonder why I didn't tell you? You wonder why I lied?"

"You should have trusted me," Arthur retorted.

Merlin laughed humourlessly. "Like I can trust you now, you mean."

"I haven't called the guards yet have I?" Arthur said. "I haven't killed you myself?"

And just like that the fight drained out of Merlin and he took a step back from the table, shaking his head. This was Arthur and he had always known this time would come. He couldn't change what would happen because it was Arthur's choice to make. "You haven't," he said. And it may have been Arthur's decision to make but there was no reason Merlin couldn't put forward his case. "I try to protect you," he explained. "I want you to live, and become the great king I know you'll be. I am your friend, even if you are not mine."

So he left the book, his life, and their future on Arthur's table and waited for either the beginning or the end to come.

**

_Spell for getting Arthur's hands back on my bum_ , Merlin wrote on a blank sheet of paper. He looked at it for hours and then burnt it in the fire.

**

In the cold light of dawn Merlin realised that leaving the spell book with Arthur had been his worst move to date.

For himself, he didn't care. At the time he had thought that maybe leaving the book would show that he _did_ trust Arthur. (Even if he fully expected execution at any moment.) And if he read it, well, he would see that most of his hand-written notes referred to domestic chores and saving his life and surely that had to prove he wasn't murderous (except in the case of cockroaches) or intent on taking over the kingdom?

But he woke with a start after a restless night's sleep and remembered that _Gaius's_ notes were in there too.

He cursed himself and he cursed his own stupidity and recklessness and promised that he would _most definitely_ listen to Gaius next time. If there was a next time.

First, though, he had to get to the book. And to do that he had to go and see Arthur which was the thing he wanted to do least in the world. He knew it might make matters worse. He knew this was just _asking_ for it, but there was no way Merlin was letting Gaius get dragged into this with him. So he hurried over to Arthur's chambers, not bothering to wash or straighten the clothes he had slept in because, really, what was the point of caring about personal appearance when you were about to be killed? Arthur would probably have told Merlin that he _never_ cared about his personal appearance and would laugh at him and straighten his scarf and attempt to flatten his unruly hair.

He had asked once, "Why doesn't that tonic of yours work on _your_ hair?" And Merlin had replied, truthfully he thought, smiling as sweetly as possible, "Because I'm special."

As he rushed down the corridor and then up the steps on the route he had taken every day for months Merlin was almost sad that they would never be like that again. Gaius had been right, he realised, and not just about _not leaving magic books lying around in your room_. He had called him and Arthur friends even when Merlin didn't believe it. He had told him Arthur _cared_. He had told him that Merlin loved his life in Camelot; that he loved Arthur.

Arthur, of all people. Who mercilessly teased him and annoyed him and made him do horrible jobs. But would then protect him, help him, laugh with him, put a hand on his shoulder when he was unwell, who would _die_ for him. It made him _ache_ for this to be right, and he wished that there was some spell or potion that could make it all go away. Except Gaius had told him once that spells like that, of forgetting and changing the past, always went wrong and so they had both sat down and Gaius had watched as Merlin wrote, _Dangerous_ , and because Gaius was raising a disapproving eyebrow at him added, _COULD CAUSE THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT_.

For Gaius then, Merlin held his breath and did not knock or think too hard about what he was doing as he barged his way into Arthur's chambers.

On reflection, Merlin thought, he should have checked it was actually morning first. Whilst the sun was just about up, more or less, and the birds were out chirping loudly, Arthur was still in bed.

"Oh," Merlin said and heard a rustling of sheets and then a bleary-eyed Arthur was looking at him over the top of his thick duvet, propped up on one elbow.

"Who's that? And what time is it?" he asked, then before Merlin could reply he bolted upright and demanded, "Merlin? What are you doing here?" In an instant Arthur was awake and wary and _glaring_ and Merlin saw his eyes flick momentarily to the window, to his sword on the table between them, and back to Merlin. There was suspicion there, written on his face and in the set of his mouth and the way he drew himself taut as though ready to leap or pounce or whatever at any moment. Merlin hated that, and hated even more that he wasn't surprised by it.

"Sorry," he began, moving fully into the room and closing the door behind him. "I didn't realise it was so early."

"I don't want to see you," Arthur said carefully. "So you will leave now."

Merlin shook his head and said again, "Sorry. I can't. But I will. I promise. I just," he looked around the room then, aware that Arthur was watching his every movement, "I need that book."

Arthur's eyes widened and he scoffed in disgust. "You want the book? What, do you mean to do a _spell_ under my very nose? You amaze me, Merlin. You really do."

"I'm not going to, well, I am, but it's probably not what you're thinking and _I've been doing spells under your princely nose for months_."

It was unexpected the way Arthur's eyes sort of softened then, still cold but less suspicious and for a moment Merlin remembered hope and found himself thinking that maybe, _maybe_ this wasn't going to be the ruin of everything.

"I suppose you have," Arthur said flatly and just stared at Merlin until Merlin couldn't stand it anymore.

"Look, I'm sorry. I _said_ I was sorry. And I really really am. And I just want to do one tiny spell and then you can hang me or cut my head off and I won't even complain. I won't even open the book. I just need to see it."

"And if I refuse?" Arthur asked and Merlin hated him a little bit more for that. Merlin had always known what he would do, and he suspected Arthur knew too.

"Then I will find it myself," he replied, trying to sound more calm and collected and not at all as terrified as he felt.

"And if I try to stop you?"

Merlin closed his eyes, considered just finding the book and removing the notes and being done with it, but he owed Arthur honesty now more than ever, so he said, "I won't hurt you. I never would. But I wouldn't need to."

Arthur smiled unkindly, "How do I know you wouldn't hurt me? How can I _trust_ you?"

"I would swear it," was all Merlin could offer. "I suppose it doesn't mean much to you, but I would swear it on anything."

"On your mother's life?" Arthur shot back, which made Merlin choke because he had already done that and more; he had nearly killed her because of his dedication to Arthur.

"On my mother's life," Merlin nodded. Arthur seemed to consider this for a moment before cautiously, slowly climbing out of his bed and walking over to a largely unused chest of drawers in the corner of the room. Never once did Arthur take his eyes off of Merlin, just opened the middle drawer, reached inside and drew out the magic book.

"There. You've seen it. Good enough?"

"I just," Merlin said, hesitantly stepping forward. "I'll just stand a bit closer. Not very close. Just a bit close. So I can. You know. And then I'll. It won't take long."

Arthur just rolled his eyes and sighed heavily and held the book out with both arms. "Just hurry up will you. I don't suppose you would tell me what you are going to do if I asked would you?"

"I wouldn't," Merlin replied. He stood in front of Arthur and all of a sudden felt completely ridiculous. He knew the words and he knew that he should hold out his hand, but Arthur was just _staring_ at him and Merlin felt like an idiot. "And I don't suppose you'd close your eyes if I asked you to would you?" he asked.

"Not a chance," Arthur scoffed.

"Right." So Merlin closed his eyes instead, or at least he did for a moment, because then he held out his hand towards the book and knew he needed to open his eyes for the spell to work and then he said the words softly under his breath. There was a faint hiss and black and purple and grey wisps of what looked like steam rose out the sides of the book.

"You removed your notes," Arthur said when the wisps were gone.

"No I didn't," Merlin answered. Then," Thanks," he said and turned and left as quickly as he could.

**

The following morning Arthur, unexpectedly, called for Merlin.

"Can you make me forget?" he asked. He looked tired and resigned and no one had cleared away the plates from his breakfast yet. It was almost too much to resist the temptation to start stacking them and tidying and stoking the fire like he would on any other morning.

Instead, he stood with his hands behind his back and said, "I won't."

"But if I asked you to. If I _ordered_ you to, could you do it?" Arthur turned in his chair to face Merlin with such an odd expression that Merlin could not even guess what it might mean.

"I won't," he repeated, thinking just how premonitory his note, scrawled for Gaius, _Could bring about the end of the world as we know it_ , had been.

Arthur tapped his fingers on the arms of his chair testily. "Why not?"

"Does it matter?" Merlin said. "I won't. It's a dangerous spell and I won't."

Arthur just nodded. "Then I shall have to forget myself." He stared fiercely at Merlin. "This never happened. I don't know anything."

"The book?" Merlin felt the need to ask, because it was a gift from Gaius and his only way to learn and know what to do and things could go very bad for Arthur if _he_ was found with it.

"It stays here," he said, turning away and pointing to the middle drawer of the old dresser. "If you use it I don't want to know."

With every day though, with the way Arthur looked at him and didn't touch him and didn't smile at him as much anymore, Merlin knew that Arthur couldn't forget at all.

**

He waited until late afternoon, checked that Arthur was out in the courtyard training then slipped into his chambers with a pen and ink hidden between clean sheets.

It took ages this way, not being able to just jot things down when they occurred to him or when they happened but over the weeks he and Arthur had come to a sort of silent agreement in which nothing was said and they pretended nothing had ever happened. It wasn't ideal and it wasn't at all expected but it made an odd sort of logic. For Arthur to know was like treason.

Merlin wrote: _There is nothing that can be done for colds with magic. I have tried everything and Gaius just keeps on sneezing. Daren't attempt on Arthur. My throat is sore so I suspect I will be next._

Merlin wrote: _Chanting this spell twenty times is no more effective than saying it once._

Merlin wrote: _Does not conjure non-stale water unless you think of flowing streams of mountain water high in the mountains. Less tasty if you think of a reservoir._

Merlin did not write: _I would give it all up if he would just _look_ at me again._

**

There was a spell, somewhere near the back of the book with the most difficult and dangerous spells, to stop the flow of blood. Merlin had always wondered why it had been written amongst those spells until Arthur was hissing in his ear, "Isn't there _something_ you can do to stop this?"

He sounded urgent and there was blood on his face. Dirt too and Merlin took a moment to lament at what the state of his clothing must be and how impossible the stains were going to be to get out.

" _Merlin_ ," Arthur was saying, leaning close and his shoulders shifted and then Merlin felt Arthur's hands on his stomach, pressed hard and it _hurt_.

"Ge'," Merlin tried, attempting to shift away and was dismayed to find he neither had the breath to speak nor the strength to move. Everything hurt and it was cold and where were they anyway?

" _Look_ at me," Arthur ordered, which Merlin thought weird because he had wanted to say that to Arthur for weeks. "Merlin," he was saying. " _Look_ at me, damn you." So Merlin did, and smiled because Arthur looked relieved, like he had missed him too. Then he frowned and Merlin wondered if he might have been wrong. "You're going to die," he said. "If you don't do something, you're going to bleed to death. I can't stop this," he said, glancing down at his hands on Merlin's stomach. "There's no one here. Use magic. _Do_ something. Tell me you can."

It was just a little bit gratifying, Merlin though, that Arthur actually seemed to care. But then the bastard pressed down harder against his torso and Merlin was all pain and _I'm going to turn him into a duck for that_ and gasping.

He knew it then; he was dying. He could feel the life draining out of him and then he realised why he had thought of that spell, in the back of the book, written directly beneath _Ways to curse a thousand generations of sons_.

"Ca'n," Merlin told Arthur.

"Yes, you can," Arthur scowled furiously. "You _have_ to."

"Never done," Merlin tried to explain. "Migh' explode myself."

Arthur raised his eyebrows and told him, "You won't." There was faith in his eyes, belief and hope and affection and Merlin was dying anyway so he nodded. More than anything he wanted to tell Arthur, "If I explode myself I'm not cleaning up the mess," but he didn't have the breath for it.

He wondered what it would feel like. He wondered if there wasn't another way. He wondered that he had never used magic on himself before. He wondered if you even could. But then Arthur was twisting his hands again and Merlin took the hint. He held his breath and reached his fingers towards his stomach and murmured the words as best he could. And he decided then that he would _never_ cast that spell on himself or anyone ever again because it hurt more than Arthur's insistent _pressing_.

He didn't explode, but it was a near thing.

**

"I thought I told you," Arthur fumed, slamming and bolting the door behind him. "I don't want to see this."

"You can't see a thing. It's all a dream," Merlin told him, not looking up from studying the book.

"Right," Arthur said slowly. Then after a pause, "I really have never met anyone with fewer instincts for self-preservation than you. Anyone could have come in and then here you are, bold as day, reading a _magic_ book."

"I knew it was you," Merlin assured Arthur and looked up, because if he wasn't mistaken Arthur actually sounded _worried_ about him.

"And how did you manage that?"Arthur sneered.

"Magic?" Merlin tried, knowing he was pushing his luck but Arthur seemed to be in a good mood and he was feeling brave and they hadn't glared at each other in at least two days. He offered Arthur a grin and was not a little bit relieved when Arthur tutted and rolled his eyes.

"What are you doing anyway?" he asked.

"Writing," Merlin replied, smiling.

"I can see that," Arthur retorted coming to stand beside Merlin, peering over his shoulder.

"Making notations for future generations," Merlin clarified and turned back to his sentence; _…makes twice as much mess as the usual spell_.

Arthur scoffed. "No, Merlin," Arthur told him, reading over the remark, "That's just you."

"Says you," Merlin muttered, thinking of socks on the floor and chairs strewn with sweaty, muddy shirts.

Arthur plucked the pen from his hand then and wrote beneath Merlin's note: _Do not believe this. Merlin is hopelessly messy. You should see his room._

Merlin cried, "Hey!" and snatched back his pen. Arthur looked entirely too smug.

And this was how it began.

**

Beside the notation, _There are twelve ways to utilise this spell,_ Arthur had written, _And one of them is not to set your master's armour on fire. Yes, Merlin, don't think I didn't notice the scorch marks_.

Merlin thought to be mad, and to go and tell Arthur off for _graffitying the ancient book_ , except then he remembered he did that all the time. Instead, he wrote below Arthur's comment, _Stop denting it so bad and I won't need to resort to my most powerful restoration spells. Also, stop writing in my book._ He was sure to replace the book into Arthur's drawer open on that page, his comment underlined in red.

**

Arthur had written, _I am the crown prince. You will not tell me what to do,_ beneath Merlin's red underlines. Merlin wrote, _It's my book_. Arthur followed up two days later with, _It's in my drawer_ , to which Merlin retorted, _Then write on your drawers_. In response to this Arthur drew a vaguely passable pair of long women's underwear with an arrow pointing to them reading, _Merlin's_. Merlin rolled his eyes and imagined that Arthur had probably been extremely proud of himself for that one. Merlin wrote, _Spell for Turning Arthur into a Woman_ , and then actually wrote the incantation beneath that would do it. Just because he was feeling vindictive and in no way thinking of Arthur as a _woman_. Mostly because it was a pretty horrid thought.

He should have seen it coming, Merlin decided, the next day when he saw that Arthur had crossed out _Arthur_ , written _Merlin_ above it and then followed up with _NOT REQUIRED BECAUSE HE'S ALREADY ONE_.

It would certainly be a bizarre conversation for those future generations to read, Merlin lamented, but Arthur was smiling at him again, and things were almost back to how they had been before. Except now there was the book. And magic.

**

Merlin had forgotten, with all the finding-out-about-magic thing with Arthur and having his guts spill themselves out of his stomach (and into Arthur's hands, so Arthur said, but Merlin suspected he was exaggerating), and then making up with Arthur, that weeks before Uther had suspected there was a sorcerer at court.

Arthur had asked him, when he was lying in his bed feeling possibly worse than he ever had _in his life_ after the whole mortal injury incident, "It wasn't you, was it?"

"Me what?" Merlin asked. He was tired and kind of wanted to die. Or at least pass out. And Arthur was not helping.

"You." Arthur lowered his voice and leaned closer. "The sorcerer at court. My father thinks someone is causing him misfortune."

Merlin shook his head and tried to push Arthur away because he was stifling him. "I'm at court," he said, and took a deep breath because talking hurt and Merlin wondered if Arthur was doing this as some kind of weird punishment. "But... the only misfortune is my own." Which, considering the gaping wound, could not be denied.

After that, no more had ever been said of it and Merlin had pretty much forgotten until some weeks later when he was finally back at work and he didn't feel like his stomach was trying to turn itself inside out and Arthur was almost acting normally towards him again.

He was doing a favour for Gwen, building up some fires in the guest quarters, when he heard it. At first, it sounded like a humming, but it was oddly familiar so he followed the sound and as it got louder Merlin could almost make out words. He didn't know that part of the castle very well so Merlin really had no idea where he was going, just knew that he had to follow the sound.

It led him to a door and as he stood there, listening, he could recognise the words clearly now: they were the words of a spell.

Merlin looked around a bit frantically, because whoever was doing magic so loudly that he could hear them corridors away was either very stupid or wanted to get themselves executed. Not that he could talk.

There didn't seem to be anybody about though so Merlin leaned closer towards the door to see if he could tell who it was.

There were always guests coming and going and Merlin had taken to just calling them "My Lord" instead of trying to remember who they all were, and the voice was familiar as one of the visiting lords from the west, but he did not know their name. More worryingly, the spell was vaguely familiar too. He was sure he had read of it before.

Merlin concentrated, trying to recall, and remembered then that it was a spell of disguise. In the spell book, beside its entry, he had noted, _Useful. Learn this one_ and always meant to go back to it, but had never got around to it.

His first instinct was to go and tell Arthur, but he still wasn't entirely sure where they stood with the whole magic thing. So Merlin decided to follow this lord for a while, see what he did. It had, after all, not been a _bad_ spell. Perhaps, like Merlin, he was just trying to keep his sorcery secreted from Uther.

And he didn't do anything sinister that night, that Merlin could tell. Nor the next. But Merlin felt something wrong, and was even more suspicious when Arthur stormed into his rooms the next day, slamming down his jacket on the table.

"Ridiculous," he fumed. "My father is to give extra lands to some lord I've never heard of from a part of the kingdom I've never been to. Now where is my wine?"

"There's none left, sire," Merlin said. "I have mead though."

Arthur pulled a face. "Extraordinary generosity. No wine. We are surely cursed."

Merlin nodded apologetically, "Of course, sire."

"And why do you keep calling me sire?" Arthur asked. "It's distracting." Then he turned towards Merlin and studied him carefully. "You're not cursed too are you?" Merlin tried very hard not to hear the question "You're not doing the cursing are you?" in that and instead shook his head and assured Arthur, "No. I am quite sure I'm not cursed."

But that night, just to make sure, Merlin crept back into the section of the castle which housed the guests and found his way to the disguised lord's door.

Again, he couldn't hear anything other than the deception spell.

This time though, the door he was leaning against suddenly opened and Merlin fell into the room, tripping over his feet and landing on the floor in an undignified sprawl.

"I told you there was someone there," an unfamiliar voice said.

Then another, "It's just a serving boy."

"But he was spying," the first spat. Merlin tried to pick himself up, but a strong hand held his shoulder down so he had to remain kneeling. He looked around quickly, trying to keep his eyes lowered and his expression confused. Which wasn't actually that hard.

There were three men. The lord who had been awarded lands and two others dressed in thick cloaks as though they had just come out of the cold.

"Servants do that. He can't have heard anything," the lord said.

"Well he has now," one of the strangers retorted, then strolled up to Merlin and took his chin roughly in his hand. "What did you hear, boy?"

"Err," Merlin said, because there was no way he was going to admit to having heard spells he was pretty certain other people couldn't hear.

"He may not have heard anything," the second stranger was saying as the first narrowed his eyes and stared at Merlin with suspicion and a little bit of malice. His eyes were dark and old even as his face was young. "But he's seen us now. We shall have to rid ourselves of this pest." Merlin was about to protest to that, when the lord he knew of spoke.

"This one is the prince's manservant. I have heard he is favoured by him, and the Lady Morgana too. He would be missed."

Which surprised Merlin, because _he_ certainly didn't think Arthur favoured him.

"Then something more subtle perhaps?" the first stranger suggested from across the room. There was some evil humour in his tone that Merlin did not like at all. "A silencing spell so that he will not be able to tell a soul a thing about it."

The lord laughed. "Oh yes! And then we can watch him squirm!"

The young man with old eyes holding him said, "Did you know boy? We mean to kill your king, and your prince too. We have proven we can make Uther do what we ask, so tomorrow we will make him take a knife to his son's throat and then to his own." He laughed. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Without thinking Merlin snapped, "I won't let you!" which earned him a raised eyebrow and a low chuckle from the lord.

I do not think you can stop us boy." He sighed. "Best to find yourself a new employer soon."

Merlin was going to demand they stop, to beg them to think about this, to ask them _why_. It was obvious why they might want Uther dead, but Arthur had done nothing to earn their malice. He was going to ask them, but suddenly his head hurt, like someone had just hit him with a brick and when he woke up the three sorcerers were gone.

**

He ran to Arthur's chambers, barrelling into the room without thinking or knocking. Merlin had no idea how long it had been but it was still dark, so maybe he still had time.

"Arthur!" he called, and sagged with relief when Arthur appeared from behind his screen, half dressed for bed.

"Merlin," he ground out. "What are you..." Then he stopped, his eyes widening and he strode quickly over to Merlin demanding, "What _happened_? Who did that to you?"

"Did what? Arthur..."

"Given you a _black eye_ , you idiot," Arthur interrupted, his cold fingers suddenly resting lightly against Merlin's cheek. "Or did you trip over your own feet again?"

Only then, with Arthur staring at his face, frowning and all scrunched up in something like distaste, did Merlin realise his eye and his cheek did actually feel kind of sore and swollen.

"I didn't," Merlin began then shook his head, trying to clear it. There were more important things to deal with. "It doesn't matter," he said. "It was," he tried, but suddenly his tongue felt heavy, or tied and he just couldn't seem to form the words to explain. "There are," he tried again, but couldn't find the breath the carry on. Merlin remembered then what the three sorcerers had said.

"I can't tell you," he realised, and Arthur was looking at him, confused and worried and maybe a bit wary.

"Why not?" he asked carefully.

"Because I." And again, the words just weren't there. He knew what he wanted to say and would have shouted it if he could. But it was like the language to explain just didn't exist and Merlin gritted his teeth in frustration.

"What _is_ wrong with you?" Arthur demanded.

"There is something," Merlin started, knowing he wouldn't be able to explain but trying anyway.

There were spells that he knew for overcoming others; he had read about them and even used them but there didn't seem to be the words for those either. Before he came to Camelot, there had never been any need for words, so he tried to draw on his magic without the incantations, and tried to tell Arthur, "There is," and "We have to," and "They're going to," except none of it came out right and the way Arthur was looking at him Merlin suspected Arthur thought him finally and completely gone insane.

He looked around desperately, trying to think what to do, and saw the parchment and pen lying on the table. Merlin snatched them up, tried to write the words and thought he had except that Arthur, looking over his shoulder, said, "I can't read this. It's just lines." He turned to study Merlin's face closely then asked, "Something is stopping you telling me?" In reply, Merlin could just about nod his head. "Someone?" This time he couldn't nod, so instead Merlin waved his hands up and down in what he hoped was an affirmative gesture. "Is it something bad? Something bad is going to happen?" Arthur asked, taking hold of one of Merlin's arms.

It was becoming harder and harder to answer, Merlin found. It made his head hurt and his muscles tighten and his throat dry. He breathed out heavily, and hoped that would be enough to answer Arthur's question, but he would never be able to explain this way.

And then, from the corner of his eye, he noticed the old chest-of-drawers and wondered if maybe, just maybe _that_ might work. He rushed over, Arthur following, and pulled the book out, slamming it down on top of the piece of furniture.

Taking a deep breath, because this was kind of the first time he had done magic in front of Arthur with something like presence of mind and the thought still made him jittery, Merlin tried to clear his mind. _Just trying to find a spell_ , he thought, _Nothing going on here_ , and incanted the words.

The book flipped itself open and the pages turned and turned and Merlin thought, _Silencing spells, silencing spells_ and nothing more. He was almost shocked when it actually worked.

He pointed to the spell, underlining the title with his finger, then looked at Arthur expectantly.

"Someone put this spell on you?" he asked cautiously, reading the page carefully. "Oh right. You can't agree with that. But I'll take it that's what happened." Arthur turned to Merlin. "So there's another sorcerer in the castle." Then under his breath, "As my father suspected." But then he shook his head. "This doesn't help us. You still can't tell me who or what they plan to do, which I presume you know." Merlin just looked at Arthur, unable to do anything else, and he supposed Arthur must have understood then because he nodded, defeated. "Right."

Merlin tried to think, and in frustration said, "I hate this," and "I'm sorry," and grabbed the pen from the table and scribbled a picture of what he hoped looked like Uther (with a big crown and everything) wielding a massive knife murderously.

"Oh _God_ ," Arthur groaned. "We've resorted to your drawings. Things must be bad." But he leant over Merlin's shoulder to look. "Is that what the sorcerer looks like?" he asked. "He has spiky hair?" And if Arthur hadn't sounded so sincerely curious then Merlin might have hit him.

Instead, he scribbled, _UTHER_ , and then proceeded to draw a picture of Arthur with his throat cut. He wrote _Arthur. Killed by Uther_ beside his (appalling) sketch. Then realised, he'd just told Arthur the sorcerer's plan. He still couldn't say it, or respond to Arthur's questions with much more than a pained grimace, but he could _write_ in the magic book. Perhaps because it was ancient and magic and couldn't be enchanted, but Merlin didn't care.

"We're saved," Arthur said, sounding far more relieved than was strictly necessary, as he watched Merlin scribble away. "We'd have been here until the end of time trying to decipher _your_ attempts at artistic renditioning."

So it was that Uther lived, and Arthur lived, and Merlin regained the use of his voice, and all because of his magic book.

"I liked the part," Arthur told Merlin the next day, "Where you were quiet a lot. Can you do that again?" Arthur was grinning at him so Merlin supposed this was probably his way of saying thanks.

So Merlin was sure to answer, "And I liked the part where you weren't a complete toss pot. Oh hang on, _that never happened_."

**

Merlin thought of the words he had written, _Spell for Reattaching Heads_ , as he watched the three sorcerers executed, and he hated himself because he knew; if it could be done, he would never use it on them.

**

One chilly morning not a few days after that when Merlin had gathered the courage and the presence of mind to update his notes about spells of deception and revelation, he found a big red strip of silk marking a page in his book. It read, in Arthur's fancy, curling letters (not very manly at all, Merlin thought), _Is there nothing useful in this book? For example: (1) a spell to make you less of an idiot, (b) a spell to make you a better manservant, (c) A SPELL TO HIDE THIS DAMNED BOOK._

Which was a quite ridiculous thing to say, in Merlin's opinion, but he was feeling oddly magnanimous and a little bit relieved to not have been executed so he wrote, _See Wine: Turning Water Into_.

Later that day he would remember Gaius's wise and solemn advice; "No matter what anyone else tells you, Merlin, kindness does not necessarily beget kindness."

"Is it true?" Arthur asked, sounding almost _excited_. He pointed at the chest of drawers and raised his eyebrows pointedly. "What you wrote."

"Yes?" Merlin said cautiously.

Arthur grinned and clapped his hands together. "Right then. This one I have to see."

"Are you serious?" Merlin asked, because Arthur had never actually asked him to do magic that wasn't a matter of life and death before.

"Of course! I'm sick of drinking mead and ale." Arthur pointed to the jug of water on his table. "Change that."

Merlin shifted uncomfortable because this was just _weird_.

"Are you sure you're Arthur?" Merlin asked, even though he knew it was. Arthur felt like Arthur. But it was always best to check.

Arthur's shoulders sagged with annoyance and he stormed over to Merlin, grabbing him by the jacket and dragging him over to stand in front of the jug. "Just do it, will you," he demanded, shoving at Merlin's arm. Which at least sounded a bit more like Arthur. So Merlin looked towards the door, making sure it was bolted, noticing Arthur's nod of approval before lifting his hand to touch his fingers to the lip of the jug and incanting the words.

"That's it?" Arthur said. He picked up the jug and sniffed at it cautiously.

"You were expecting colourful flashes and a fanfare perhaps, _sire_?" Merlin retorted. "It's a simple spell."

"Huh." Arthur pulled two cups towards him and poured out the magicked water. "Do you know what it'll taste like?" he asked.

"Wine, I should imagine," Merlin shrugged, to which Arthur snorted.

"Shows what you know about wine. Well, let us find out, shall we?" He lifted a cup towards Merlin and they drank. It didn't taste bad, and even Arthur pulled a face like it wasn't all that bad and took another drink. Followed by another. And another. Until the jug was empty.

"I'll get more water," Arthur said, and was making for the door when he stopped and turned to Merlin. "Or can you? Refill the jug."

Merlin thought for a minute, trying to imagine what the right spell might be and found it oddly difficult to concentrate. He also seemed to be sitting in Arthur's chair. Then he realised, "We could consult the book!" he said.

"That'll take too long in your state. Merlin, you're falling out of the chair. I'll get another jug," he announced and hurried out of the room.

He came back with a keg.

"It's a keg," Merlin pointed out.

"A very _small_ keg," Arthur replied. "Now make more of that wine. It wasn't actually that bad."

"It's a keg," Merlin thought he should point out again, because he was _not drinking half a keg of wine_.

"We're not going to drink it all tonight, idiot." Arthur did his irritated hands-on-hips and eye rolling thing and waggled a finger between the keg and Merlin. "Now get on with it."

When Merlin woke up in Arthur's bed, laying half underneath the surprisingly heavy oaf, missing certain vital items of clothing (like his _trousers_ ) and _not remembering a single thing_ Merlin really wished he had never even _seen_ a magic book, let alone written frivolous messages in one.

**

There was an awkward semi-silence between them for the next two days, after which time Merlin's epic headache finally disappeared.

"I'm never drinking again," he told Gaius.

"That would be for the best," Gaius advised, then went back to ignoring him in favour of carefully stirring some foul-smelling green stuff.

The semi-silence was driving Merlin mad and it was making Arthur antsy and _violent_ , the knights returning from training limping and rubbing at arms and covered in bruises. They didn't complain, which made Merlin shake his head in exasperation.

Still, they couldn't go on like this. And there was also the matter that, upon reflection, and sometimes in his dreams (which Merlin was fairly sure had actually happened), Merlin _did_ remember. He saw Arthur's face inches from his, and he saw Arthur's hands on his arms, and he saw Arthur's hands taking off their clothes. He _felt_ Arthur's lips against his and his tongue in his mouth. Merlin could see the bruises on his arms, finger-shaped and still tingling. The state of his clothes; strewn around the room that morning and suspiciously crumpled and sweaty in places, was pretty damning too.

He tried, every time he saw Arthur, to broach the subject but found that he could never seem to get the words out. And really, Merlin didn't have a clue what to say. _"Did we sleep together?"_ or _"Do you remember that bit where your hand was on my thing and I was sort of licking you?"_ just didn't seem like something he could just come out and say to Arthur. Neither did, "What did you think of it?" or "Shall we do it again?" particularly when Merlin wasn't sure himself how he felt about this whole thing.

There was no denying it had been fun. He remembered a lot of laughing and Arthur's smile as he kissed Merlin's shoulders. Arthur's body in his hands had been warm and wielding and Merlin remembered how the feel of Arthur's hands on him had made him press closer, wanting more and the end result, obviously, not entirely horrible.

Arthur though wasn't giving anything away and it was making them both snap at each other in a not entirely friendly manner. Arthur watched him too, sometimes, like he was suspicious or something, and that hurt Merlin most of all.

So he went to the book, found the page on spells of amorousness and attraction; the one that said there was no magic in the world that could change the emotions of a human permanently. There he wrote, _I didn't make you, if that's what you think._ He thought for a moment, wondering how much he should admit. If nothing else, he didn't want to lose Arthur's friendship, but he _knew_ that Arthur had enjoyed it too, and had breathed Merlin's name into his ear and kissed him softly and stroked his hands gently along Merlin's arms until he was shivering. So he wrote, _I would have done that without the wine too._

It became a bit of an obsession, checking the book everyday to see if Arthur had replied, or even seen it. He made sure to mark the page with his own scarf even. And everyday that passed Merlin became more and more convinced that Arthur hated him and was never going to speak to him again. Other than to demand he clean something.

It all came as something of a shock, then, some days later when Merlin came to give Arthur his evening meal and Arthur just stood beside the table, waiting for Merlin to put the tray down before grabbing him by the jacket and kissing him. And then kissing him again. And again, until Merlin had overcome his surprise and started kissing back.

"I was getting worried there," Arthur smirked, pulling Merlin closer. "That you'd changed your mind."

"Nope," Merlin assured him, trying to get his hands up Arthur's shirt. "I'm good."

Arthur grinned widely and shoved Merlin up against the table. "Just checking," he said, then ran his hands up Merlin's neck into his hair, tilting his head back and kissing and licking at his throat.

"Okay," Merlin sighed, feeling Arthur and touching Arthur's skin and wondering how they had ended up like this but really being very glad they had.

Arthur pressed his weight, then, against Merlin so that he half-fell back against the table, his head hitting the edge of the bread plate. He scowled at Arthur, reaching up to rub at the back of his head.

"Nice," Merlin groused. "I'm sure you weren't this rough when you were drunk."

"I think I was," Arthur scoffed then grinned and leaned over Merlin, shoving the tray away. It clattered to the floor, the water jug smashing against the stone.

"I am not cleaning that up," Merlin said and would have told Arthur that he was going to make _him_ clean it up so he'd learn not to do it again but Arthur pushed Merlin's hand aside and took over rubbing where his head had hit the metal dish. His hands were surprisingly gentle and his lips even more so as he pressed them to Merlin's own.

Merlin thought, _We didn't lock the door_ and _That's cheating_ before he forgot to care. With Arthur in his arms, gasping against him and fiddling with belt buckles and uncooperative ties, grinning at him and kissing him everywhere Merlin could only think, _This_ and _More_ and _Arthur_.

**

Under the gilded title, _For Imparting Man With Greater Virility_ Merlin scratched hastily, _To be used only with extreme caution, in the direst circumstances, with a prevailing wind_.

Arthur wrote, _I told you we didn't need it._

**

Sometimes, the book lived in Arthur's rooms.

In these times, Merlin learned a lot of anatomical spells and learned that Arthur's drawings were almost as bad as his.

Sometimes, the book found its way back to Merlin's room, where it seemed most at home under the bed, hanging out with the other magical objects Merlin had managed to collect over the months.

In these times, Gaius often left helpful notes on the potions in the book, and left Merlin useful references to research certain legends and beasts and creatures more fully.

But one time, under an unfortunately rendered sketch of two people, Gaius wrote, _Merlin. There are some things I don't want to know. THIS IS ONE OF THEM._

**.END.**


End file.
